We All Go A Little Crazy Sometimes
by Collegekid2006
Summary: Shawn willingly commits himself into a mental institution.
1. Chapter 1

"So…" Dr. Kelvin leaned back in his plush chair and made a note on clipboard. "Why are you asking to be voluntarily committed?"

The patient leaned forward, nervously rubbing his hands together like he was trying to keep them warm.

"I don't know, Doc." He said, then paused. "Can I call you Doc? It kinda makes me feel like Bugs Bunny…I just need a carrot or something, you know?"

"I prefer Dr. Kelvin, to be honest." The doctor returned gently.

"Dr. Kelvin." The patient agreed, his knee starting to bounce as he tapped his foot. "I don't know…it's just kind of a lot to deal with, you know?"

"What's a lot to deal with?"

"The whole…psychic thing."

Dr. Kelvin raised his eyebrows, making another note.

"You believe you're psychic?" He asked in a cool, professional voice than in no way implied this revelation meant he believed the patient was completely insane.

"Yeah." The patient nodded.

"I see."

"I work for the police department." The patient continued, clearing his throat hesitantly. "Normally, it's okay…you know? The voices, I mean…"

"Voices?" Dr. Kelvin asked, maintaining his professional demeanor. "Do you hear voices, then, Mr. Spencer?"

"Yeah." Shawn nodded, his knee still bouncing like mad. "You know, the Spirits. I hear them all the time…they help me solve cases."

"I see. And what, specifically, do these voices tell you?"

"You know…who did it. Where the evidence is. That kind of stuff."

"Do they ever tell you to…do things?"

"You mean, like, jump?"

"Just as an example, yes."

"No." Shawn laughed. "They don't tell me to jump. Or kill people."

"Well, that's good."

"But I just can't get them to shut up, Doc! They won't shut up!"

Shawn gripped both ears in his hands and dropped his head between his legs, moaning piteously.

Dr. Kelvin didn't move.

"How long have you been hearing these voices?" He asked. "When did they start?"

Shawn sat back up, dropping his hands by his side.

"When I was teenager…after my parents got divorced."

"I see."

"Am I crazy, Doc?"

Dr. Kelvin laughed gently, putting his clipboard aside.

"We don't really use that word around here, Mr. Spencer."

"Right."

"But, no. You're not crazy. But you do sound like you could use a little help."

He leaned forward, removing his octagon glasses and placing them on the arm of his plush chair.

"I do need to explain something to you, however." He intoned seriously. "You're entering voluntarily, and I'll have you sign a document to that effect. However, that doesn't mean you'll be able to leave voluntarily. Once you're here, you'll undergo medication therapy, group therapy and individual therapy until your doctors and nurses agree you're ready to be released. Do you understand that?"

"Yeah." Shawn nodded. "I understand."

"Good." Dr. Kelvin smiled, standing up and crossing to his desk. "Then I'll just have you sign this form saying you understand you won't be released until we agree you're not an immediate danger to yourself or others, and we'll begin the admissions process."

Shawn stood up and crossed to the desk. Without a moment of hesitation, he signed the form.

Dr. Kelvin smiled and put the form in Shawn's file.

"Welcome to Green Pines, Mr. Spencer."


	2. Chapter 2

"Shawn?" Gus called, stepping into the Psych office. "Are you here?"

The lights were off, but the front door was unlocked.

Of course, that was nothing new…

Shawn always forgot to lock up when he was in a hurry to get home.

_He probably lost his key again…_Gus realized, shaking his head and flicking the lights on.

_He's at home sleeping…even though he's supposed to be here working on the case like he promised…_

He sighed and sat down at the desk, shuffling papers while he waited for his friend to finally decide to arrive.

A pink Post-It note on the corner of the desk caught his eye. He picked it up and read it.

_Gus- _

_I won't be in today._

_I'm at Green Pines._

_You can visit in three days. I don't think they allow visitors for three days…_

_-Shawn_

_P.S.- Don't tell my dad._

Gus dropped the note, his brow wrinkling in concern.

"Visitors?" He muttered to himself, looking around the office as if the answers to all his questions were written on the wall. "What the heck is he--"

He noticed a stack of DVD cases on the couch. He stood up and crossed the office, but he had a sneaking suspicion he already knew what they were.

He picked up the first one on the pile, which was _One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest._

"Oh, God!" Gus groaned, his fears starting to come true. "He really did it! I didn't think he was really going to do it! He actually got himself committed!"

He dropped it and looked at the second DVD, which was _A Beautiful Mind._

"…And he's going to do it with a really bad Southern accent!" Gus lamented, closing his eyes painfully. "Shawn, they're never going to buy—"

He opened his eyes again, stopping dead in the middle of his sentence when he saw the third disk.

_Psycho._

"Oh, God!" Gus exclaimed. "He's going for Anthony Perkins in Psycho! He's going to wear a dress and a really bad wig and tell them he had his mother's skeleton in his room! They're never going to let him out!"

He dropped the DVD's and ran out the door, for once forgetting to lock up behind him.

* * *

"Okay, Mr. Spencer." Dr. Hellerman smiled, handing Shawn a small cup with a single pill in it. "We're going to try you on a low dose of Haloperidol for a few days."

"Halo-what-dol?" Shawn mumbled, taking the cup and shaking the pill around a bit as he stared down at it doubtfully.

"Haloperidol. It's an antipsychotic medication. Hopefully, it'll help with some of those voices."

"It'll make 'em shut up?" Shawn asked, tossing his head back as he downed the medication without so much as flinching.

"That's the idea."

Dr. Hellerman took the cup back from him and sat down, motioning for Shawn to take a chair, too.

"But medication is only part of the answer, Mr. Spencer." He continued as Shawn perched nervously on the edge of his chair.

"What's the other part?" Shawn asked. "That electro-shock thing? 'Cause I didn't sign up for that one…"

"No." Dr. Hellerman smiled. "Talking. You'd be amazed what talking things through can do to clear your mind."

"Ah." Shawn leaned back. "Is this the part where I get to blame my dad for everything?"

"Your dad?" Dr. Hellerman's eyebrows raised slightly. "That's interesting."

"What?"

"Well…most people would have said 'Mom' there. But you said 'Dad'."

"So…?"

"So, why do you think that is? Do you blame your father?"

Shawn blinked in surprise.

He hadn't seen that one coming…

"Blame him for what?"

"You told Dr. Kelvin your parents are divorced…and that's about the time you started hearing voices. Do you blame your father for the divorce?"

Shawn tensed, his fingers curling around the arm of the chair.

"Look, I don't blame my dad for anything, okay?" He said through clenched teeth. "I was just being a wise-ass. So, can we talk about something else?"

"Okay."

Dr. Hellerman dropped his pad and leaned back, his fingers drawn into a neat steeple under his chin.

"What do you want to talk about?" He asked.

"I don't know…seen any good movies lately?"

"We have a word for this, Mr. Spencer."

"What's that?"

"Avoidance."


	3. Chapter 3

It took Gus the full three days to get in to see Shawn.

He called every doctor on his route for help, but they all said the same thing: rules are rules, and the staff at Green Pines won't make any exceptions.

On the third day, he went as soon as visiting hours began. Shawn was in the common area, sitting at a long table by himself, staring down at an empty checker board. His hair was un-gelled and disheveled, and he was wearing a ratty bathrobe and tattered slippers.

"Where'd you get those?" Gus snorted, sliding into the chair across from him.

Shawn glanced up, grinning broadly as he saw his friend for the first time.

"They're my dad's."

"Does he know you took them?"

"He's probably figured it out by now…fortunately, he doesn't know where I am."

He shot Gus a meaningful look.

"He doesn't know, right?"

"I didn't tell him." Gus sighed. "I should have…but I didn't."

"Good." Shawn nodded in relief. "He doesn't need to know."

Gus leaned back in his chair, taking in his friend's uncommonly unkempt appearance.

"Where's the _Psycho_ wig and mother skeleton?" He asked.

Shawn laughed.

"I thought about it, but it seemed a little over the top. Don't you think?"

"You're not even going for the bad Russell Crowe Southern accent?"

"Actually," Shawn replied. "If they'd let me keep my shades, I was going to go for the quiet, is-he-or-isn't-he-insane Kevin Spacey in _K-Pax._"

"What happened?"

"They confiscated the shades."

"Ah. So…what's your cover, then?"

Shawn tapped his temple.

"The Spirit voices finally got to me."

"You told them you hear _voices?_" Gus leaned in, his voice low and urgent. "Shawn! They'll put you on antipsychotics!"

"They already did."

"Which one?"

"I don't know…." Shawn shrugged, running his fingers through his shaggy hair. "Hal somebody."

"Haloperidol?"

"That's the one." Shawn nodded.

"You're not actually taking it, are you?"

"I don't have a choice, Gus. They watch you take it. It's not like I can spit it out. They tend to frown on that, from what I understand. They're pretty good at catching tricks, too…"

Gus shook his head, already hating every bit of this plan.

"Shawn, you can't take medicine you don't need. It's dangerous. Do you know what some of the side-effects of Haloperidol are? Lethargy, muscle stiffness, even depression severe enough to cause suicide in some cases."

"I think I'm safe. They frown on suicide attempts, too."

"Shawn. I'm serious."

"It's not for long, Gus. I'll solve the case and be out of here in a week."

He stood up, but Gus pulled him back down in his chair.

"Shawn. It takes at least two weeks for the doctors to judge if a medication is working." He informed him. "And that's assuming they don't start playing around with your doses. And assuming they think your therapy is progressing adequately. That's why the Chief told you not to go undercover!"

"No…" Shawn shook his head. "She just said the Department wouldn't _pay_ me to go undercover as a doctor or something…she never said anything about willingly committing myself."

"Does she know?"

"Of course not!" Shawn snorted. "Do I look insane?"

Gus didn't even have to respond. He just raised his eyebrows and brushed his hand past the arm of the tattered bathrobe.

"Shut up." Shawn muttered, pulling it tightly around himself. "You know what I mean."

"This is a really, really bad idea, Shawn." Gus insisted, hoping for once his best friend would actually listen to him.

"But I said I'd find out what happened to him, Gus." Shawn said quietly, running his fingers over the empty squared of the checker board. "I told his mom I'd help."

"He was insane, Shawn. Suicidal. He got a hold of a razor somehow…it's sad, but that's what happened."

"No." Shawn shook his head firmly. "You haven't been here for three days, Gus. I have. It's not airport security, but it's pretty darn close. There's no way anyone could sneak a razor in here. There's no way he could have hidden it for two months, either. They've already checked through my stuff twice, and I'm not even considered a suicide risk! They check on those guys, like, every fifteen minutes. No way he could have had time to bleed out from slashing his own wrists. They would have found him after five minutes. Plenty of time to save him. No, Gus…someone on the inside wanted David Barskow dead. And I'm going to find out who."

"How?" Gus demanded.

"Well…" Shawn stood up again, looking at the clock on the wall. "For starters, I'm going to group therapy. That should be fun, right?"


	4. Chapter 4

Shawn sat at the back of the group, silently observing each of his fellow inmates.

There was Helyn, a woman of about fifty with long, scraggily gray hair and cats printed on every item of clothing she owned, which Shawn estimated to be about three.

Then there was Clark, a boy a few years younger than Shawn who, as far as Shawn could tell, had spent more time in a psych ward in his young life than Shawn had spent in the principal's office.

There was Lou, a man in his forties who was always mumbling to himself and rarely spoke in coherent sentences.

And then there was Jill, a woman of an indeterminate age between 20 and 60 who the most disturbingly intense stare Shawn had ever seen. For some reason, she kept turning that stare on him.

He cleared his throat and scooted his chair back a few inches from her.

Dr. Hellerman, who was running the group, noticed.

"Shawn." He smiled. "You've been quiet today. Is there anything you wanted to add to our discussion?"

"Uh…"

"He has to say something, right Dr. Hellerman?" Helyn spoke up. "Isn't that the rule?"

"That is the rule, Shawn." Dr. Hellerman agreed.

All eyes were suddenly on him, demanding he come up with something.

Fast.

"Uh…chickpeas are neither chicks nor peas. Discuss."

Clark snorted, but all the others just looked confused.

_Well…at least one of them has a sense of humor…_

"No one expects you to share anything personal the first time, Shawn." Dr. Hellerman assured him. "Just relax."

"You're that psychic, aren't you?" Clark asked, still grinning at Shawn's joke. "You're in the paper sometimes."

"Yeah." Shawn nodded. "That's me."

"You're a psychic?" Helyn gasped, suddenly looking awed and maybe just a little frightened.

Dr. Hellerman shot him a warning glare.

"Yeah…well, you know…" he shrugged, knowing it was inevitable.

He couldn't stop it now, even if he wanted to...

Dr. Hellerman could glare all he wanted, but it was going to happen…

It was the first thing everyone always said after he told them he was psychic.

"So…what can you tell me about me?" Clark asked.

Shawn leaned back in his chair, letting his eyes take in every detail of the boy's features.

His right index finger had a sizable bump right where he would hold a pencil and there was a small graphite smudge on his sleeve.

"You're a writer."

Clark looked surprised.

"Yeah." He nodded. "I am."

Dr. Hellerman glanced down at his watch.

"I think that's just about time, folks. We'll pick up tomorrow."

As they began to file out, Clark caught up with Shawn.

"How'd a psychic end up in here with us crazies?" He asked.

"I'm on vacation. I just thought it'd be cool to go somewhere I could wear my bathrobe and slippers all day." Shawn shrugged. "Plus, the drugs are good…and I was told there'd be pie. I haven't gotten any yet, though, so I think the brochure was lying."

"There's no pie."

"Damn brochure."

Clark studied his face critically, trying to figure out if he was joking. He finally decided he was and laughed

"I'm bipolar." He told Shawn.

"Congratulations."

"Thanks."

"I hear voices."

"Ah."

Clark grinned.

"So, I guess you are one of us crazies, after all."

Shawn returned the grin, arching a single eyebrow.

"We all go a little crazy sometimes." He intoned, a hint of something perhaps just a little ominous creeping into his voice.

He turned around on slippered heel, but before he could walk away Clark started to follow.

"Isn't that from _Psycho?_" He asked.

Shawn huffed, crossing his arms across his chest.

"Dude! You just totally stepped all over my exit line! I was going to walk away, all cool and mysterious…it was going to be awesome!"

"Gus…do you know where the hell Shawn is?" Henry demanded.

Gus hesitated, suddenly regretting picking up the phone.

"Uh…no." He answered quickly. "I haven't seen him."

"Did he take my bathrobe?" Henry pressed on, not even pausing to catch his breath before throwing the next question out there.  
"I don't think--"

"And what the hell would he want with my slippers?"

"Uh--"

"And why isn't he answering his cell phone?"

"Maybe it's dead?"

Henry paused. Gus could picture him on the other end of the phone, his eyes narrowing suspiciously in that semi-scary way they always did just before he started yelling…

"What's going on, Gus?" He demanded.

"Nothing."

"Where's Shawn? And don't tell me you don't know!"

"Uh…"

"Gus."

"I can't tell you."

Henry groaned.

"Am I going to need bail money?" He asked.

"No."

"Then what the hell is going on?"

Gus sighed, knowing resistance was futile. Henry wasn't going to give up until he got an answer. And at least if Gus told him Shawn committed himself to a mental institution over the phone, Henry couldn't punch him…

Or yell at him…

Or glare at him…

"Okay…" Gus agreed finally, his instinct for self-preservation kicking in. "I'll tell you what's going on…"


	5. Chapter 5

Shawn looked up from the table when Henry loomed over him, his arms crossed sternly over his chest.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

"Gus cracked." Shawn sighed finally, pushing the blank checker board aside.

"Like an egg." Henry growled, sliding into the chair across from his son. "What the hell do you think you're doing here, Shawn?"

"What can I say?" Shawn shrugged casually. "Thirty-two years of being your son finally caught up with me."

"Shut up, Kid. And next time, ask before you take my stuff!"

"Yeah…" Shawn rolled his eyes. "Next time I'll ask before I borrow your bathrobe. Because _that_ won't be an awkward conversation."

"More awkward than hearing from Gus that my son committed himself to the damn nuthouse?"

"It's not a nuthouse, Dad. It's a mental health facility."

"It's for people with _real_ problems, Shawn." Henry chided, leaning across the table. "People who need help."

"And I'm here to help!" Shawn insisted, dropping his voice. "I'm on a case. Okay?"

"What kind of case?"

"Murder."

"Great!" Henry slammed the table with his fist but still somehow managed to keep his voice a hushed, angry whisper. "You're investigating a murder in a nuthouse! Well, _that's_ not a stupid, dangerous thing to do!"

"Listen." Shawn leaned forward intently, his eyes darting back and forth making sure no one could hear what they were saying. "A kid named David Barskow died here two months ago. He was twenty-two. The official story is that he somehow got a hold of a razor, locked himself in the Rubber Room, and slashed his wrists before anyone could get in and save him."

"What the hell's a Rubber Room?"

"Solitary confinement for nutjobs."

Shawn nodded at a large, metal door across the room.

"It's a padded room. Even the door. You can bang your head off the wall all day and not hurt yourself. Literally. It's where they put you when you freak out."

Henry looked at the door, then back at Shawn.

"You need a key to get in?" He asked, his interest suddenly peeking.

Shawn nodded slowly.

"And to get out. And David Barskow didn't have a key on him when they found the body. No one knew he was in there."

Henry blinked, leaning back in his chair thoughtfully.

"Someone let him in."

"It looks like it."

"So…what have you found out?"

Shawn looked around again, then slowly motioned his father to come closer. Henry leaned in so their faces were only inches apart.

"See that guy over there?" Shawn whispered, tilting his head towards Lou, who was sitting on a chair in the corner, rocking back and forth and mumbling to himself.

"Yeah." Henry nodded, only moving his eyes to take in the apparent suspect.

"I think he might be crazy."

Henry sat back up, not in the least bit amused by the attempt at humor.

"You've been here three days, Shawn, and you don't even have a lead?" He scolded. "Come on!"

"Well, I haven't been able to look around the Rubber Room!" Shawn argued. "I haven't had a chance to have a freak out! I mean…I walk around and mumble to myself a lot, but that doesn't get you thrown in the Rubber Room. I just have to find a chance to--"

Suddenly, his face broke into a wide, evil grin as a flash of genius struck him.

Henry's eyes widened in horror as he realized what his son was thinking.

"Don't do it, Shawn!" He warned. "Not now!"

"Dad! Come on! They already think I have issues with my father. It's perfect!"

"Why the hell would they think that?"

"Because I accidentally told them in therapy that I blame you for everything."

"You did _what?_"

"Also, I may or may or may not have some repressed anger towards Santa Clause for not bringing me that Transformers action figure set I wanted when I was six…"

"It was eighty bucks, Shawn!"

"But since Santa's not here…" Shawn pressed on, ignoring his father's attempts at sanity and reason. "…I guess you'll have to do."

"Don't do it!"

But Shawn had already stood up, knocking his chair aside with pretend, nearly over-the-top fury.

"Just go with it." He whispered as every eye in the room was suddenly turned on them when the chair clattered loudly off the tile floor. "Come on! It'll be fun!"

Before Henry could knock some sense into him, Shawn started to yell.

"You never accepted my gift!" He shouted dramatically, keeping it just this side of believable.

"I'm not doing this, Shawn." Henry growled, crossing his arms and refusing to budge. "Sit down! You're making a scene!"

"That's the idea." Shawn whispered back, glancing over at the two large orderlies in the corner, who were already preparing to make their move.

"I'm psychic, Dad!" He shouted. "Just accept it!"

"You're a moron!" Henry shot back, his voice finally raising.

Shawn flashed him a quick grin, but quickly hardened his face again into a sullen, angry mask again before anyone could detect it.

Shawn knocked over another chair just as the orderlies reached him.

Henry couldn't take it anymore. He stood up and spun on his heel as they started to drag Shawn to the Rubber Room, still screaming and struggling.

"Oh, sure!" He called as Henry marched away "Turn your back! Just like you did to Chairman Meow!"

Henry spun back around, his eyes narrowing.

"I hated that damn cat!"


	6. Chapter 6

The door slammed behind Shawn, locking him inside the Rubber Room. He gazed around at the pale blue walls, which were padded with some kind of material that reminded him of the tumbling mats from gym class when he was a kid. Even the floors felt soft as he took a few steps into the room.

He closed his eyes, summoning a mental picture of the crime scene photos he had seen.

_They found him right here…_he realized, opening his eyes and walking to center of the floor.

_This is where they found the body…_

_Right in the middle of the floor…_

He stared down at the spot, certain it was where David had died, then looked back at the door, which was equipped with a single, narrow window about halfway up. Where he was standing was directly in the center of the window's line of sight.

_But if he was trying to kill himself…why would he do it right in the front of the window? _

_…He did it in the middle of the room…not in a corner…_

_…He wasn't even trying not to be seen…_

_...Maybe he wanted to be seen…_

_…But, then, why do it in here…?_

_And how the hell did he get in here in the first place?_

Shawn crossed back to the door and jiggled the knob, but it was locked tight. He examined the lock, but it didn't look like anyone had tried to pick it. At least, there were no scratches in the worn, faded finish or obvious signs of tampering.

_…Once he was in, he didn't try to get out…_

_…At least, he didn't try very hard…_

He slowly walked around the entire perimeter of the small room, running his fingers over every inch of floor and wall, looking for any place someone could have stashed a razor. He knew it wouldn't have to be a big space…only an inch gap between the padding and the wall, or the wall and the floor, or even the wall and the ceiling…but he couldn't find anything. Not even a seam in the padding.

_It's impossible to hide anything in here…_

_There's no where to hide it…_

_He must have had it when he came in…_

He sighed and sat down in the corner, suddenly convinced he was looking for someone who worked there and not for a fellow patient.

_They had to have a key…a patient might have been able to steal a key, but they also had to be able to get David a razor…_

_They're always checking patients for stuff like that, but they never check staff…_

_Someone who works here was in on it._

_Someone who works here wanted David dead…_

* * *

"Do you want to tell me what happened?" Dr. Hellerman asked the next day in their private session.

Shawn shook his head.

"Not really."

"Well, _something_ happened, Shawn. Your father came to see you for the first time, and you ended up in the Rubber Room after only a few minutes talking to him. So…what happened?"

"Nothing."

Dr. Hellerman sighed and dropped his glasses into the pocket of his white lab coat.

"Shawn, look. I can't help you if you don't talk to me. I'm not a psychic. I don't know what's in your head unless you tell me."

"It wasn't anything, Doc. Really…nothing new, anyway."

"What do you mean, nothing new?"

Shawn shrugged, settling back into his chair.

"He just doesn't get it."

"Doesn't get what?"

Shawn paused, trying to figure out what he was supposed to say next.

"Me."

"He doesn't get you?"  
"No."

"What does that mean?"

Shawn sighed, rubbing the back of his now throbbing head. He was trying to stay in character, but it was getting harder with each passing moment. Every question was somehow getting closer to hitting reality, which was something he hadn't expected to hit in a mental hospital.

"I don't know." He snapped, for some reason he couldn't quite define suddenly very tense. "He just doesn't get me. He never has."

He could feel his feet pressing against the floor, as if trying to push through the carpet and the wooden planks. Dr. Hellerman didn't seem to notice.

"What about your mom?" He asked.

Shawn blinked, relaxing ever so slightly.

"What about her?"

"Does she get you?"

"Yeah…" Shawn nodded. "She does."

The voice-hearing psychic character had almost completely vanished now. Shawn was shocked when he realized he was actually thinking about the questions.

"How so?" Dr. Hellerman pressed.

"She…just does. She doesn't try to change me. She doesn't try to make me be something I don't want to be. She doesn't ride my ass if I'm not perfect. I don't have to be perfect…"

"Your father wants you to be perfect?"

"He _wants_ me to be a cop." Shawn replied. "That's all he's ever wanted me to be."

"And that's not what you want?"

"No."

"And yet, you work for the police department?"

"I'm a private consultant." Shawn snapped. "A psychic. Not a cop."

Dr. Hellerman nodded slowly, making a few notes on his pad.

"Where does your mom live?"

"San Francisco."

"When's the last time you spoke to her?"

"I don't know…" Shawn shrugged. "She's not around a lot. She travels…probably a few years ago."

"I see."

Dr. Hellerman looked down at his watch.

"That's time for today, Shawn. But can I make one observation before you go?"

"What?"

"Your mom didn't come to see you…your dad did."

"So?"

"You also don't live near your mom. You live near your dad."

"So what?"

"So…maybe you're not angry at your father at all. Maybe you're angry at your mom."


	7. Chapter 7

"My dad's a jerk, too." Clark told Shawn the next day on their way out from group therapy.

When Shawn didn't immediately answer, he cleared his throat and pressed on, quickening his pace to keep up with the psychic.

"He is." Clark continued. "He thinks if I just tried hard enough, I wouldn't need pills. I wouldn't need help at all. If I just tried hard enough, I'd be fine…"

As Clark lifted his hand to rub his eyes, the sleeve of his bathrobe rode up on his arm. For the first time, Shawn got a good look at the hospital bracelet that was snapped around his wrist. According the date on it, Clark had been there for three months.

_He was here when David died…_

"My dad arrested me for borrowing the car," Shawn replied, pausing and turning back around so he was facing Clark.

"No way." Clark snorted disbelievingly.

Shawn nodded, smiling wryly.

"I was eighteen. I asked to borrow the car, he said no. I took it anyway. The next thing I know, I'm being pulled over and my own father is handcuffing me and hauling me downtown. He wouldn't even drop the charges. I had to get a lawyer and everything."

"Wow." Clark's eyes were wide in amazement. "You win on the jerk dad front."

"Do I get a trophy or something?"

"I think you get a lifetime supply of meds and therapy."

"I've always wondered what my life was missing…" Shawn sighed wistfully. "I think this is it. Meds and therapy."  
Clark laughed once, but then suddenly stopped as his face grew serious. He leaned in confidentially.

"What's the Rubber Room like?" He asked, his voice hushed but brimming with excited curiously. "I've never been in there."

"Well, there's sure as hell no pie." Shawn returned.

His eyes darted back and forth as he leaned in closer.

"Actually…" he whispered. "There were some seriously dark vibes in there."

"Really?"

Shawn nodded slowly.

"There was a spirit in there…a boy who died…"

Clark gasped, clapping his hand over his mouth to suppress the high-pitched, frightened squeal that was coming out of his throat.

"What?" Shawn asked, pretending to be ignorant of what was to come.

"David." Clark whispered hoarsely, suddenly growing pale. His hands were shaking, and for a moment Shawn considered calling it off…telling Clark he was only joking…

But he didn't.

He couldn't.

He had to get to the bottom of it.

"Yes…" he whispered, closing his eyes mystically. "David…that's the name…"

"He killed himself in there, like, two months ago." Clark continued, his voice quivering with the memories. "He snuck out of his room in the middle of the night…slashed his wrists…no one at the nurse's station saw him until it was too late…"

"How'd he get in there?" Shawn asked. "You need a key."

Clark shook his head, his eyes squeezing shut as if he was trying to keep something unwanted out of his head.

"They never figured it out…he must have had a key…"

"Do you remember which nurses were on-duty that night?"

Clark's eyes opened again.

"Why?" He asked, suddenly looking suspicious.

Shawn shrugged.

"I don't know. You brought it up."

Clark thought carefully for a moment before answering, his incisive eyes trying to pry into Shawn's skull to find out what he was really after.

"I think it was Nurse Debra and Nurse and Nurse Sue, but I don't remember. I know Nurse Debra is the one who found him."

"Did anybody see it coming?"

"No…" Clark shook his head quietly. "He was supposed to be going home…he told me that morning Dr. Hellerman told him he could go home…"

Suddenly, his eyes hardened and his fingers curled into tight fists.

"I don't want to talk about it anymore." He said, his voice growing firmer. "God, Shawn. It took me two months to forget it."

"I'm sorry."

Clark shrugged, running the back of hand across his forehead, leaving a shock of brown hair smeared against the beads of sweat that had begun to breakout there.

"It's not your fault." He smiled faintly, the color slowly returning to his face. "Just do me a favor."

"What?"

"Next time you talk to a spirit…don't tell me."

"I've been thinking about it," Shawn told Dr. Hellerman that afternoon in their private session. "And you're wrong."

"I'm wrong about what?" Dr. Hellerman asked, gently laying his pad aside and clasping his hands together thoughtfully under his chin.

"I'm not mad at my mom."

"I didn't say you were. I said _maybe_. It was a hypothesis…an idea to explore."

"Well, stop exploring!" Shawn snapped. "Because you're wrong."

"Okay. I'm wrong."

"I don't live near my dad because I hate my mom!" Shawn pressed on, not even aware the doctor had just agreed with him. "I moved away for years. When I came back, I didn't even know he was here! I thought he was in Florida. He didn't even tell me he was back for over a year!"

"First of all…" Dr. Hellerman smiled gently, leaning back in chair. "I certainly never said anything about you hating anyone. You can have unresolved anger without hating the person."

"Did you hear what I said?" Shawn demanded. "A year, Doc! He was back for a year and he never bothered to tell me!"

"That's a long time." The doctor agreed.

"My mom may have left, but she as hell wouldn't come back and not tell me!"

"Then, she's the one who left?"

Shawn blinked, once again thrown for a loop by the question.

"Yeah. She left."

"How old were you?"

"Thirteen."

"You were just a kid, Shawn. It would be natural to be angry…to feel abandoned."

Shawn shook his head firmly.

"I wasn't angry." He insisted.

"Why wouldn't you be?"

"Because…I understood. I wanted to leave, too."


	8. Chapter 8

It hit Shawn the next morning when he woke up.

For a solid minute, he couldn't move.

It wasn't that he physically couldn't move, like he was paralyzed or anything…

He just didn't have the desire to move.

He stared up at the ceiling, his arms and legs feeling as heavy sandbags.

_What the hell is wrong with me…?_

Finally, he forced himself to sit up, but it took every ounce of strength he had. Even his mind felt more sluggish than usual.

He walked into the bathroom, every step feeling like a thousand miles. By the time he finally got dressed and made his way into the common room, he was exhausted.

"Are you okay?" Clark asked, looking concerned as Shawn sat down at the table to wait for his breakfast tray.

"Yeah…" he mumbled, shaking his head to try to clear the cobwebs away. "I'm just tired…I can't shake it."

"Oh…" Clark nodded knowingly. "The meds are kicking in."

"Great."

"You'll get used to it." Clark shrugged. "Everyone does."

Shawn groaned and rested his head on the table, for the first time allowing himself to wonder if, perhaps, committing himself wasn't his best idea ever.

When Gus came by later that morning, he still hadn't been able to shake the tired, sandbag feeling.

"What's the matter with you?" Gus asked the second he sat down at the table, where Shawn hadn't moved since breakfast. No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't do it.

"I'm tired, Gus."

That was all he needed to say. The pharmaceutical representative could certainly connect the dots on his own.

"I told you not to take antipsychotics you didn't need!" Gus chided, his stomach lurching as he watched his normally sharp-as-a-tack friend struggle to even stay awake. "Shawn! This is dangerous! You need to get out! Now!"

Shawn shook his head slowly and scratched his three-day growth of beard.

"I'm getting close, Gus…" he murmured. "I've got some leads. I need you to get Jules to pull some police records for me."

He pulled a crumpled up paper towel out of his bathrobe pocket and handed it to Gus.

"I couldn't find any paper…those are the names."

Gus read the list quickly.

"Susan Long…Debra Mason…Clark Vaughn…Dr. Hellerman?"

Gus looked up at him, suddenly concerned.

"You think your psychiatrist is in on it?"

"I don't know…but according to Clark, he told David he was going home. So either David was lying, or Dr. Hellerman was lying."

"Or Clark is lying." Gus added. "Whoever the heck Clark is…"

"I don't think so." Shawn shook his head. "I saw his reaction when I mentioned David…it was real. It's a tough memory for him. I don't think he killed him."

"But he's still on your list." Gus pointed out.

"Just in case."

"I'll talk to Jules." Gus said quietly. "If you'll promise to get out soon. Shawn, you're going to hurt yourself. It's dangerous."

"I'll be fine."

"Shawn--"

"Gus." Shawn managed a weak smile. "I'll be fine. Trust me.

Gus sighed heavily.

"I've known you too long to trust you."

* * *

"How are the voices?" Dr. Hellerman asked.

Shawn shrugged, slumping in the chair so his legs stretched almost all the way to the doctor's seat across the floor.

"I think they're too tired to talk now."

"Does that mean you're not hearing them at all?"

"Not right now."

"Well…that's a step, then. And it means the Haloperidol is working."

"Yeah. It's working." Shawn muttered.

"How are the side-effects?"

"I'd rather have the voices, Doc."

Dr. Hellerman laughed, jotting a quick note on Shawn's chart.

"I understand. We can try to lower the dose a little. We'll see if that helps."

"I've heard this stuff causes suicide." Shawn said. "Is that true?"

Dr. Hellerman clicked his pen shut thoughtfully.

"It has been linked to a number of suicides, yes."

"Have you ever had a patient kill themselves because of it?"

"You know I can't tell you that." Dr. Hellerman replied, his voice perhaps slightly colder and more clinical than it had been a moment before. "You know about Doctor-Patient Confidentiality."

"Is that a yes, or a no?" Shawn pressed.

"That's a don't ask again, Shawn. I can't discuss other patients with you."

"Okay, okay."

"Besides…" Dr. Hellerman added, easing back into his professional, affable persona. "You're not here to talk about other patients. You're here to talk about you."

"We always talk about me. Can't we talk about something else?" Shawn asked.

"Like what?"

"The Progressive Era was neither progressive nor an era…"

"Shawn."

"What?"

Dr. Hellerman crossed his leg over his knee, balancing the clipboard with Shawn's chart on it as he leaned back.

"Why don't we talk about this…" he suggested. "How would feel about getting your father involved in your therapy?"

Shawn laughed despite himself.

"What?" Dr. Hellerman asked, clearly missing the joke.

"Nothing…" Shawn shook his head, still laughing. "I'm just trying to picture my dad on a couch…talking about feelings…"

"It's actually very common for immediate families to get involved in cases like this."

"My dad would never go for it."

"Actually, it was his idea."

Shawn stopped laughing, his jaw almost hitting the floor in shock.

"It was _what?_"

"His idea." Dr. Hellerman repeated. "Actually, he hasn't stopped calling for days."


	9. Chapter 9

"Shawn hasn't said anything yet!" Helyn nearly shouted, gesturing at Shawn accusingly across the semi-circle. "He has to say something, right?"

Shawn blinked, suddenly jolted out of his daze and back into reality as all the eyes in the group were turned on him. He had meant to be watching and observing everyone during the group session, but this was the third time he had caught himself drifting off, going for minutes at a time without hearing a single word anyone said or watching a single move anyone made.

_I'm just too damn tired…_

_I can't keep my head in the game…_

"Yes, Helyn." Dr. Hellerman replied patiently. "Shawn has to say something."

Shawn rolled his eyes. He _wanted_ to say something about tattle-tale teacher's pets in cat shirts…but he decided against it.

"Rhode Island is neither a road nor an island." He mumbled, dangerously close to the end of his supply of pithy one-liners.

Clark laughed. Dr. Hellerman sighed and shook his head. Jill and Helyn just exchanged puzzled glances. And Lou…

Lou, Shawn noticed, rolled his eyes.

It was a subtle movement; so subtle that at first Shawn wasn't sure he had really seen anything at all. Even after he was sure, he didn't know what it meant.

_He rolled his eyes…_

_…Didn't he…?_

_…So what…?_

He stared at the quietly mumbling man, who was still rocking back and forth in his chair. There was no glimmer in his eyes that suggested he even fully understood where he was or what was going on. He was looking up at the ceiling now, apparently mesmerized by the lights.

_Maybe he didn't roll his eyes…_

_And if he did, maybe it was just a coincidence…_

But even as the thought crossed his mind, Shawn didn't believe.

Not really.

_Or maybe…_

_Just maybe…_

_Lou isn't quite as out-of-it as he'd like us to think…_

* * *

Dr. Hellerman wasn't in his office yet when Shawn arrived, but Henry was. He was sitting in the plush chair Shawn usually sat in, his arms crossed irritably over his chest. He looked up as Shawn walked in and closed the door behind him, his eyes silently taking in his son's week-old beard and scruffy hair, which was hanging down over his ears now that he didn't have daily access to his usual gel.

Finally, after an awkward moment of silently watching each other, Shawn pulled up another chair and set it next to his father's.

"You look like hell." Henry muttered.

"I _feel_ like hell, thanks for asking." Shawn returned.

"Then why the hell are you doing this?" Henry demanded. "There are other ways to solve a case, Shawn."

"This is _my_ way, Dad."

"_Your_ way is going to get you hurt."

"I'm fine."

Henry snorted disbelievingly, staring blankly down at the carpet in front of him.

"Stop being an ass." He ordered quietly. "Just get out of here, Kid."

"You'll get your bathrobe back soon. Don't worry."

"I don't care about the damn bathrobe."

Shawn crossed his arms, and for a minute the two Spencer men sat side-by-side in a stubborn impasse, identical defiant glints in their eyes.

"What are you doing here, anyway?" Shawn asked finally, breaking the pregnant silence. "Dr. Hellerman said this was your idea."

Henry shrugged, resting his elbows on the arm of the chair.

"I don't know, Shawn." He snapped. "Maybe I'm crazy, too!"

Shawn laughed.

"Okay…first of all, you could _never_ pass for crazy around here."

"Why not? You did."

"I'm a better actor than you."

"I've done some acting."

"You have not!" Shawn snorted, assuming his father was being sarcastic. When Henry's stern expression didn't change, however, he realized he was being dead serious.

"Oh, God!" Shawn gasped, horrified. "Tell me you haven't actually done any acting!"

Henry just shrugged, clearly not about to reveal anything else about his sordid thespian past.

"In _public?_"

"Shawn!" Henry snapped. "Focus! _This_ is why you haven't made any progress on your case! You're not focusing!"

"I'm focusing!" Shawn argued. "And who says I haven't made any progress? I've got tons of leads! Dozens!"

"Really?"

"Yes!"

"Then why are you still here?"

"I said I had leads, Dad. I didn't say I had answers."

"Well, get some answers. Fast."

"Thanks for the tip."

Henry grunted and stood up, quietly pacing around the room as he looked at the various diplomas and certificates on the wall.

"You're not going to blame it all on me, Kid." He said after a few minutes.

Shawn looked up.

"What?"

"It's not all my damn fault."

Shawn blinked in surprise, for a moment not sure how to respond.

"I was playing a character!" He said finally. "I'm pretending to be crazy, remember?"

"It's still not all my damn fault." Henry growled, sitting back down. "I'm going to set the record straight."  
"This is therapy, Dad." Shawn rolled his eyes. "Not a deposition. There _is_ no record."

"You've always been your own worst enemy, Kid." Henry insisted. "You've never been able to own up to a mistake. You've never been able to just admit you're wrong. I'm just going to make sure this doctor understands that before he goes blaming me for your damn mistakes."

"What mistakes?" Shawn snorted. "I've never made any--"

"You want a list?" Henry asked, his eyebrows raising. "Let's start with that damn motorcycle."


	10. Chapter 10

"I apologize for being late." Dr. Hellerman said, entering the office and quickly shutting the door behind him.

Shawn was still sitting in the chair, staring slack-jawed at Henry, who was glaring at him from the other side of the room.

"Clearly, you started without me…" Dr. Hellerman observed, clearing his throat as he took his seat, his eyes darting back and forth between the father and son. "Does someone want to catch me up?"

"Yeah!" Shawn offered, still gawking at Henry. "We were talking about my dad's pathological hatred of everything cool!"

"Breaking your neck isn't cool!" Henry shot back.

"Okay…" Dr. Hellerman raised his hands as if sending two boxers to their separate corners. "Slow down."

He turned to Shawn first.

"What makes you think your father has a…pathological hatred of everything…cool?" He asked.

"He hates my bike! He's _always_ hated it!"

"And by bike you mean…motorcycle, I assume?"

Shawn nodded, crossing his arms resentfully.

"Okay…" Dr. Hellerman turned to Henry next. "Is that true? Do you hate his bike?"

Henry grunted, pacing to the other side of the room, but very pointedly refusing to sit down.

"Yeah. I hate the bike."

"Why?"

Henry's eyes locked with the doctor's.

"You're not going to psychoanalyze me." He snapped. "I'm here to tell you why Shawn's mistakes are his own damn fault!"

"Believe me, I'm not psychoanalyzing anybody." Dr. Hellerman assured him. "I'm just trying to figure out why I apparently walked into the middle of World War III…is all this tension really over a bike?"

"Yes!" Shawn and Henry both shouted together.

Dr. Hellerman blinked at the ferocity of their response.

"Okay…"

"You should see us at holidays…" Shawn muttered, rolling his eyes.

"Have you ever considered the possibility that maybe you're _not_ really fighting about the bike?"

Shawn and Henry both looked at each other, their brows wrinkled in confusion. Clearly, neither of them had ever considered this.

"What?" Henry growled.

Dr. Hellerman cleared his throat and pressed on cautiously, still watching the warring parties out of the corners of his eyes.

"Shawn, you said your dad has a pathological hatred of everything cool. Clearly, you consider the bike to be cool…a value your father, apparently, doesn't share."

"A value he pathologically hates." Shawn corrected him.

"And, Henry…" Dr. Hellerman continued. "You said breaking your neck isn't cool. Obviously, you worry about Shawn when he's on the bike."

Henry's ears turned red as Shawn stifled a laugh.

"It's just a thought." Dr. Hellerman concluded with a shrug. "But maybe when you're fighting about the bike, you're really fighting about your opposing views of how Shawn should live his life. Henry, you want to keep him safe. Shawn, you want to make your own choices. It's actually a very common tension between fathers and sons…"

For a moment, no one spoke. Shawn and Henry just stared at each other, both trying to read the other's impassive expression.

Finally, Henry spoke.

"Trust me, Dr. Hellerman." He intoned. "It's about the damn bike."

* * *

Shawn watched silently as his father signed out at the front desk, for once having no idea what to say.

Henry, however, didn't seem to be suffering from that affliction.

"Solve the case, Shawn," he ordered, dropping the pen back on the clipboard. "Fast."

"I will." Shawn promised quietly. "I told you. I have leads. Dozens of them."

"Name _one_."

"Okay…" Shawn glanced around the common room, finally spying Lou sitting alone in the corner. "See Lou over there?"

"Yeah."  
"I don't think he's really crazy. At least, not as crazy as he wants everyone to think."

Henry looked again, his eyes narrowing as he actually looked closely at Lou for the first time.

"Lou?" He repeated the name softly, his wheels starting to spin furiously.

"What?" Shawn asked, but Henry wasn't listening. He was suddenly lost in his own Henry World, making connections Shawn could only guess at.

"He must have lost fifty pounds…" Henry murmured to himself, his eyes so narrow that Shawn wasn't completely sure they were actually open anymore. "…That's why I didn't recognize him earlier...But that's him…it has to be him…son of a…"

"_What?_" Shawn almost shouted.

Henry snapped out of his own head, turning back to Shawn.

"You don't know who that is, Shawn?" He demanded, his voice lowering to an urgent whisper. "Damn it, Shawn! You've been here a week and you don't know who that is?"

"It's Lou." Shawn shrugged, completely baffled by his father's sudden rage.

"It's Lou Dancini, Shawn!" Henry snapped. "He's a mob hitman!"

"A _what?_"

"A hitman! I've been following the case! They've been after him for years, but witnesses kept turning up dead so they could never get a case together. They finally busted him a few months ago, but after two days in jail he suddenly had a mental breakdown. His lawyer pulled some song and dance and got him committed. They're going for an insanity defense."

Shawn looked back at Lou, suddenly seeing the quiet man in a whole new light.

"He rolled his eyes, Dad."

"What?"

"I made some lame joke…and he rolled his eyes. He's faking it."

"It's been months, Shawn. How the hell could he fool the doctors around here for months?"

"He's good. Damn good. He had me fooled for a week."

"It'd take more than that." Henry shook his head. "The DA is pushing to prove he's sane. If he slipped up even once, they'd be all over it. No…If he's kept the act up this long and never faltered once, he has someone helping him from the inside. Someone coaching him, fixing records…something. There's no way he could keep it up on his own."

"But he did slip up..." Shawn replied quietly. "And I'm the only one who saw it."


	11. Chapter 11

"Shawn…" Clark whispered later that morning on their way into group therapy.

"Huh?" Shawn mumbled, still not fully awake yet. He was still trying to shake the tired, sandbag arms.

"Did you talk to David again?"

Shawn paused and slowly turned back around. Clark's eyes were wide and bloodshot. His foot was tapping impatiently on the floor, and his hands kept fidgeting with the seams on his pants.

"No…" Shawn shook his head slowly, feeling too guilty to subject him to that again. "I haven't."

"Oh."

Clark sounded disappointed. He sighed and started to walk into the meeting room, but stopped himself in the doorway and turned back around.

"I was just thinking…" he continued, not even looking at Shawn. His eyes were darting all over the room, not resting on a single point for more than second before moving on.

"What?"

"If you do talk to him again…could you tell him something for me?"

"Tell him what?" Shawn asked, watching Clark's fingers as they drummed nervously, almost frantically, on his leg.

Clark sighed and sat down in a chair, but quickly decided he could sit still and stood up again, pacing to the other side of the room and back to Shawn. EVen when he stopped pacing, he couldn't stand still, almost like he was standing on a pile of hot embers.

"Dude…who sprinkled the hyper in your Corn Flakes this morning?" Shawn asked, looking at him slightly askance. He'd never seen Clark act anything like this before.

Clark laughed, slightly louder and more shrilly than normal.

"No one. Nothing….I'm okay…I've just been up all night."

"Why?"

Clark shrugged.

"It happens. A lot…They usually give me something to make me sleep when I get like this…But it's good. When I can't sleep, I write. I write a lot. Pages and pages and pages and pages…"

"Yeah…" Shawn interrupted him. "I get it. You write. What'd you want me to tell him?"

"Oh. Right." Clark nodded, suddenly remembering he actually had a point somewhere in there. " So, I was writing last night…and writing and writing and writing and writing…"

"Clark!"

"…and that's when I started thinking about that night…"

"What night?"

"You know…" Clark glanced around them, but no one was around. "The night David died. I couldn't sleep that night, either. They gave me a pill, but it didn't work. I was up all night, writing."

"And writing and writing." Shawn concluded for him. Clark laughed and nodded.

"Right…But that's not what I wanted you to tell him."

"What, then?"

Clark sighed, suddenly stopping all his manic fidgeting.

"Tell him I'm sorry."

For a moment, Shawn didn't know what to say.

"Sorry about what?" He asked finally, his voice hushed.

Clark sat down, his eyes staring blankly at the floor, finally fixing on a single point.

"I was awake all night…I should have heard something. His room was right next to mine. I should have heard him close his door…I should have heard him walking down the hall…I should have gotten help. But I didn't. I didn't know, Shawn! If I knew…"

"I know. It wasn't your fault, Clark."

Clark blinked slowly, standing back up.

"But you'll tell him, right?"

"Yeah…" Shawn nodded firmly. "I'll tell him."

* * *

Shawn was sitting by himself, doing the best he could to watch Lou from across the common room. His mind kept drifting in and out of the task, and he had the perpetual desire to go back to his room and take a nap, but he kept at it.

_If Lou's not crazy and I caught him, maybe David did, too…_

_Maybe he saw something he wasn't supposed to see…Lou being sane…_

_It's possible…_

_It's my best lead so far…_

He didn't even hear Gus approaching until he slid into the chair across the table.

"What's going on?" Gus asked, turning around to follow his friend's line of sight.

"Nothing…" Shawn shrugged. "It's just been a long day."

"Why?"

"For one, Dr. Hellerman accused me of having emotional depth."

"_You?_" Gus scoffed mockingly, giving up trying to figure out what Shawn was looking at and turning back around. "You're not deep. _I'm_ the deep one, Shawn. Everyone knows that! I listen to opera!"

"That makes you a loser, Gus. Not deep."

"The guy sporting a bathrobe and Grizzly Adams beard in a mental hospital is calling _me_ a loser?" Gus snorted, crossing his arms.

Shawn thoughtfully scratched at his beard, which he had to admit had gotten slightly scruffy-looking over the last few days.

"I haven't shaved in a few days, okay?" He mumbled. "They don't exactly let mental patients walk around with razors. When they do let you shave, they watch. Seriously, Gus. Do you have any idea how creepy it is to have someone watch you shave? It's like something out of a Vincent Price movie. And not a good Vincent Price movie, either…a crappy, low-budget Vincent Price movie."

"Do they have a ban on hair brushes, too?"

"Shut up!"

Shawn ran his fingers through his hair, doing the best he could to muss it appropriately, but it was no use. It fell right back limply into place over his ears.

Gus laughed.

"Oh, yeah." He rolled his eyes. "You're deep, all right."

"Shut up." Shawn muttered. "Did you find anything out from Jules?"

"Yeah…" Gus nodded, leaning across the table. "But I don't think it'll help you out much. No one on your list has a record. Jules checked them all out, and they're clean. Susan Long's son, Derek, got busted for possession a few months ago, but that's it."

"Possession?"  
"Yeah…" Gus shrugged. "No big deal. He got pulled over and the cop found pot. There was enough of it to get him an intent to sell charge."

"It wasn't two months ago, was it?"

"I think so…" Gus nodded. "About that. Why?"

Shawn's eyes were narrowing contemplatively at Lou again, who seemed to be blissfully unaware anyone was even around as he sat in his usual corner and moaned incoherently under his breath.

"Because I have an idea…"

Gus groaned.

"Why is it," he demanded, "that every time _you_ have an idea, _I_ have an aneurysm?"


	12. Chapter 12

"Good afternoon, Mr. Spencer." Nurse Sue greeted Shawn warmly.

He was sitting on the small couch in the common area by himself, his feet folded underneath him in a serene looking Yoga-like position.

"Shh!" He whispered cryptically as she approached, his eyes still squeezing shut as he raised a finger for silence. "I'm getting something…"

The performance was sucking every remaining ounce of strength he had left, but he knew he didn't have a choice. He had to find out if his hunch was right.

"Getting what?" Nurse Sue whispered.

She was a woman in her mid-forties with thick, dark hair hanging past her shoulders a maternal look of concern perpetually etched on her face.

"You're…" he continued, his fingers digging into his temple as he struggled against his psychic flash. "…here…to make me take…you…to Funkytown…"

Nurse Sue laughed as Shawn opened his eyes again.

"Close." She smiled, handing him two small cups, one of which contained a single pill and one of which was half-filled with water. "I'm here to make you take your pill."

"But…" Shawn countered, accepting the cups. "It's a pill from Funkytown, right?"

"I don't think so."

Shawn raised a challenging eyebrow at her.

"You don't really think I'm psychic, do you?" He asked.

She shrugged, still smiling. She was far too professional to get sucked into _that_ conversation.

"You say you are, and that's good enough for me. Take your pill. I have other patients--"

He set the two cups down on the low coffee table, pretending to be offended by her lack of faith as he gestured down at his crossed legs.

"I'm meditating and everything! You don't get much more psychic-y than that."

"No, you don't." She agreed gently, picking up the cups and handing them back to him. "Take your pill. I have to check you off my list and move on, Mr. Spencer."

"I could prove it, you know." He pressed on.

"You don't have to prove--"

"No, no." He waved off her protests, patting the couch cushion next to him. "Sit down."

Nurse Sue glanced down at her watch and sighed, rolling her eyes.

"If I let you prove it, will you take your pill?"

"That depends…will it make feel as crappy and tired as I feel right now?"

"Probably."

"Then, of course I'll take it!" He gushed with fake enthusiasm. "Who doesn't want to feel crappy and tired all the time?"

"You have two minutes, Mr. Spencer. Go."

She balanced the tray of medication on her knee as she perched on the couch, clearly not relishing the delay in her schedule.

Shawn closed his eyes again and gently lifted his hands to her temples, letting the tips of his fingers graze past them.

"I'm getting something…" he whispered, watching her closely out of the narrowest of slits between his eyelids. "Some kind of…trouble…drugs…lots of drugs…and a car…"

Nurse Sue gasped, nearly dropping her tray. Shawn still pretended to keep his eyes closed, still covertly watching every move she made.

"And there's a kid…" he pushed on. "…and an arrest…but it's a wrong arrest…the drugs weren't the kid's…they were planted…it was a set-up…"

All the blood had drained from her face now and the maternal, concerned expression was replaced by one of complete terror. But Shawn was watching her expression.

He was watching her eyes

Because at that moment, they were looking directly at Lou.

* * *

"Okay, Doc." Shawn said, sliding into his regular chair. "I'm going to level with you. I'm not crazy. I don't hear voices. I never did."

Dr. Hellerman raised a single eyebrow.

"Really?"

"Nope."

"Then why are you here, Shawn? Why would you want me to think you heard voices?"

"Because I'm working on a case." Shawn explained, already able to see the doubt in Dr. Hellerman's expression, though he was trying to disguise it. "David Barskow's mother hired me to find out what really happened to him."

Dr. Hellerman didn't even attempt to hide his shock at the revelation.

Of course, he couldn't acknowledge he actually recognized the name.

"I see…" was all he murmured, though Shawn could tell he had struck close to a nerve.

"She didn't buy that it was suicide." Shawn pressed on. "And she was right, Doc. It wasn't. It was murder."

"Really?" Dr. Hellerman actually appeared interested as he leaned back in his chair. "What makes you say that?"

Shawn stood up, suddenly forgetting about the sandbag arms and the need for a nap. At that moment, all he was thinking about was the case.

"It didn't add up. If he killed himself, where did he get the razor? And how did he get in the Rubber Room without a key?"

Dr. Hellerman shrugged.

"It's quite a leap from a few unanswered questions to murder, Shawn."

"Maybe." Shawn agreed with a nod. "But those questions all pointed to one fact: someone on the inside must have either helped him kill himself, or they killed him. Staff are the only people who could sneak in a razor, and they're the only ones with keys to the Rubber Room."

Dr. Hellerman nodded thoughtfully.

"An interesting theory…"

"Of course, I couldn't find any reason anyone would want David dead…" Shawn pressed on. "Until I saw Lou roll his eyes."

"You saw Lou do _what?_"

"Roll his eyes." Shawn repeated. "In group therapy, when I made a joke. It was a little thing…but it meant that he wasn't as out of it as he seemed. Of course, I didn't know what that meant until I found out who Lou is. My dad recognized him. A mob hitman trying to prove he's insane…and he's kept it up for months. He has to have someone on the inside helping him pull it off."

"Why?"  
"Because there's no way he could pass the 24-hour a day scrutiny without a little coaching and a little record-fixing. But he messed up at least twice. I saw it once. David Barskow must have seen it the other time. He must have seen _something_. Lou couldn't risk him going to the DA. He had to take care of him. But it had to look like suicide. If anyone suspected murder, the mob hitman would be the first suspect. So he got the person who was helping him pass as crazy to help him kill David."

"Who was it?" Dr. Hellerman asked, leaning forward intently. "Who helped him?"  
"Susan Long. But I don't think she wanted to kill David. I don't think she had a choice. She may not have had a choice in any of it, I don't know. I think Lou Dancini was threatening her family."

"What makes you say that?"

"Just about the same time David died, her son was arrested for having drugs in his car. A lot of drugs. Enough that he's facing years in jail. I think Lou set it up. And that was probably just the beginning of what he said he'd do to her family…and what she knew he was capable of doing. She didn't have a choice. And once you told David he was going home, they didn't have much time. They had to act fast. I think I even know how they did it."

"How?"  
"Clark said he couldn't sleep that night. He said they gave him a pill, but it didn't work. If they were going to slash David's wrists and make it look like suicide, they needed him to be asleep, or at least too doped up to fight. But Nurse Sue couldn't just slip him something. Every pill has to be accounted for. So, when you prescribed Clark something to make him sleep, she didn't give it to him. She gave it to David. They both took so many pills that neither of them would notice a net difference of one. Once David was out, she and Lou waited until the coast was clear, then dragged him into the Rubber Room, where they knew no one would find him for a long time. If they left him in his bed, the other nurse on-duty might have found him in time to save him. They killed him, Doc. That's why I'm here. And now I need you let me out so I can tell the cops."

For a long moment, Dr. Hellerman didn't say anything.

Finally, he leaned back in his chair.

"Do you see mysteries everywhere, Shawn?" He asked quietly.

"What?"

"Mysteries…do you see them everywhere you go?"

"What are you talking about?"

"When someone dies, do you assume it has to be murder? Do people ever…just die?"

"Of course people just die!" Shawn shouted. "But sometimes they're murdered!"

"And, this case was murder?"  
"Yes!"

"And all this came to you in a psychic vision?"

Shawn paused for a moment before answering, suddenly seeing where this is going.

"Yes." He answered carefully.

"But you said you don't hear voices."

"I don't!"

"But, you do still believe you're psychic?"

Shawn sighed, knowing he was trapped.

He couldn't admit he wasn't psychic. It was the one thing he swore he would never admit to anyone.

"Yeah. I'm psychic."

Dr. Hellerman nodded.

"Now we're getting somewhere. When you get psychic flashes, does it ever feel like they're telling you people are after you?"

"I'm not paranoid, Doc!" Shawn insisted. "I'm telling you, this was murder! I was just faking the crazy thing! I'm not crazy! You have to believe me!"

"And your father? Was he in on it, too?"

"No." Shawn snorted. "That was real. He's actually like that. Can you believe it?"

"Shawn…" Dr. Hellerman sighed, making some notes on his pad. "I know this is taking longer than you thought it would, but getting better doesn't happen overnight. I can't release you because you suddenly decided you don't want to be here anymore. You knew that when you came in."

"But I don't hear voices!"

"But you do see murder plots everywhere?"

"Not everywhere!" Shawn snapped. "Just where someone's been murdered!"

"No one was murdered here, Shawn. I promise you. I can't talk about it, but I was here the next day. It was sad and tragic and it shouldn't have happened, but David Barskow was not murdered. Okay? So, please, stop trying to solve a crime that didn't happen and focus on getting better."

Shawn sighed and ran his fingers through his hair.

"You don't believe I'm not crazy, do you?"

"I never said you were crazy, Shawn." Dr. Hellerman smiled gently. "But I do think that maybe we're starting to get to some deeper issues than you realized were there…and that can be a scary thing. I understand not wanting to confront them, but until you do you'll never get any better."

Shawn groaned.

"You know what the worst part is, Doc?" He sighed, standing up and walking to the door.

"What's that?"

"I'm not even going to get a damn Oscar nomination for this performance! Jack Nicholson would totally get an Oscar nomination!"

* * *

"Did you talk to Jules?" Shawn demanded the second Gus sat down at the table two days later.

"Yeah." Gus nodded. "I told her everything you told me."

"What'd she say?"

Gus sighed and shook his head.

"That without any evidence, there's nothing she can do. She'll look into the Long kid's drug arrest and she'll look at the file on the Barskow suicide, but until you find some evidence…"

Shawn groaned, his last hope going up in smoke.

"What are you going to do?" Gus asked quietly, knowing too well from personal experience that his best friend wasn't done yet.

Shawn looked across the common room at Lou, his eyes narrowing as a plan slowly started to form in him mind.

"Get some evidence." He answered breezily, as if it was all that simple.

"How?"

"I don't know, Gus…" Shawn murmured. "But he killed David Barskow for seeing him slip-up…if he knows I saw him, he might try to kill me, too…"


	13. Chapter 13

Shawn lay in his bed, staring up at the ceiling of his small hospital room, trying to keep his thoughts coherent.

He could already feel the drugs coursing through his veins.

_It won't be long now…_

_It won't be long…_

_What the hell did they give me…?_

_I should get the recipe…_

He closed his eyes for a moment, fighting to stay awake, though he knew it was a futile effort.

_…I'll be out in a few minutes…_

_…Then it'll all be over…_

_…Over…_

The second his eyes were closed, Gus' face flashed through his mind.

_"…Don't do it, Shawn…"_ he was warning his friend…pleading, really…just like he had two days ago when Shawn had told him his plan.

_ "…Shawn, they're going to kill you…"_

_"...No…they're going to **try **to kill me…that's totally different!"_

It had seemed like such a good idea at the time…

Tip off Lou that he knew he was faking, wait until they tried to kill him…catch them in the act…

_It seemed like such a good idea at the time…_

_No, not a good idea…_Shawn realized ruefully as he forced his eyes open again.

The _only_ idea.

The only way.

The only evidence he could possibly get…

Another murder.

Gus had tried to talk him out of it, of course.

He'd even threatened to tell his dad if Shawn didn't call the plan off…

But none of it had worked.

_"…It's the only way, Gus…it's the only way…I have to do it…"_

He had been so insistent back then, two days ago…

But now…

Now, as his eyelids got heavier by the second and the ridiculously loud ticking of the clock down the hallway was starting to sound like a metronome inside his brain, he allowed himself to wonder if this was the best plan…

_Is it really the only way…?_

_What if it doesn't work….?_

The thoughts stopped there.

He was too tired to think anything else…

_…Too tired…_

_…What the hell did they give me…?_

_…I should get the recipe…_

_…Did I already say that…?_

_…I should write these down…_

…_Where's Gus when you need him...?_

Shawn's eyes were closing again, involuntarily this time. He couldn't control it anymore.

He didn't even _want_ to control it anymore…

This time, it wasn't Gus' anxious, pleading voice that echoed through his head, however.

This time, as he drifted closer and closer to the looming black abyss of sleep, it was own voice he heard bouncing like a pinball around the walls of his mind.

_"…Did you take method acting courses or something, Lou…?...'Cause, I gotta tell you…they worked, Dude. Awesome performance! Way better than that Sybil movie...!"_

Lou hadn't even flinched as Shawn had sat across from him, gleefully spouting off about how much he knew, secretly hoping to get a reaction then…

If Lou had just snapped then…broken character…in front of everyone…none of this would be necessary…

_….I wouldn't have had to pretend I didn't notice the different pill tonight…_

_…I wouldn't have to wait for them to try to kill me…_

_…Where's Gus when you need him…?_

He could hear the footsteps in the hallway now, soft and muffled, but his brain couldn't process what they meant.

His door was being opened…he could hear it creaking ever so quietly…but he couldn't even open his eyes to see who it was…

He couldn't move, couldn't even think anymore…

The abyss was on top of him now. The darkness swirled around him like a deadly fog.

Somewhere in the distance, he could hear the whispers over him.

"You promised no more…"

"I didn't count on the psychic…"

"I can't…not again…"

"You don't have a choice."

The last sensation he felt before finally spiraling into complete unconsciousness was his body being lifted into the air…almost like floating…

_…Floating…_

And then there was nothing.

_…Nothing…_


	14. Chapter 14

They carried him to the end of the corridor. He was moaning softly, as if trying to say something. His eyes periodically opened and gazed emptily at the ceiling above him, but he wasn't really seeing anything.

_He doesn't know what's going on... _Sue kept telling herself, trying to steady her wrecked nerves.

_He won't feel a thing…_

_It'll be over before he even knows what's happening…_

She watched Lou silently leading them down the corridor, his face set in a cold, emotionless expression.

She sighed to herself, fighting back the tears she felt building.

_I don't have a choice…_She told herself, over and over again.

Like a mantra.

_I don't have a choice…_

_He knows everything about my family…_

_He could kill them all…_

_Ruin their lives…_

_He already got to Derek…_

_…I don't have a choice…_

When they reached the end of the hallway, Lou stopped and looked back at her, flicking his head towards the nurse's station, telling her to check to make sure the coast was clear. She nodded and stepped in front of him, gently resting Shawn's feet on the floor. She knew the other nurse on-duty was making the rounds in the other hallway, so as soon as she saw the empty desk at the station, she motioned for Lou to come.

She already had the Rubber Room unlocked by the time he dragged Shawn across the dark, deserted common room.

Lou dumped the body on the floor like a sack of bricks. Shawn groaned as his head bounced off the padded floor, but he didn't wake up.

_He's not going to wake up…_

_He won't wake up…_

Lou had the razor out now, and he had already slipped on the latex gloves.

Shawn's eyes were closed again and he had stopped groaning. He didn't even flinch when Lou picked up his arm and pushed the sleeve of the bathrobe up, exposing his wrist to the sharp metal.

Sue closed her eyes.

_I can't watch…_

_He won't feel a thing…_

_He won't feel a thing…_

* * *

"Did you hear something?" Clark whispered, standing up and pacing to his door. Before he could touch it, however, Detective Lassiter stepped in and stopped him with a firm hand on the shoulder.

"Don't touch it!" He hissed, motioning for Clark to sit down on the bed again. "I didn't hear anything…and I won't be able to if you don't shut up!"

"But I thought I heard something!" Clark insisted, straining to keep his voice a whisper.

"We're all listening Clark." Juliet told him gently as he sat back down next to her. "Don't worry. We'll hear if something happens."

Dr. Hellerman nodded from the chair at the small desk in the corner of the room.

"We're all here, Clark." He assured his patient. "Nothing is going to happen to Shawn."

Lassiter glanced down at his watch and rolled his eyes impatiently.

"We don't even know they're going to try anything tonight." He pointed out. "We're probably wasting our time…"

"_You_ called _me_, Detective." Dr. Hellerman smiled. "You vouched for Shawn's sanity and asked me to help you set up the stake-out."

"I never said he was sane!" Lassiter hissed back, his eyes narrowing. "I just said that the DA's been after Dancini for months and this is our best chance to catch him, especially since Guster said that moron was going pull this stupid stunt with or without our help. That's all!"

"Shh!" Juliet ordered sharply. "I can't hear!"

Lassiter grunted, and they all went back to listening for something…anything…to tell them Shawn was in trouble.

Clark stood up again a few moments later.

"I can't sit still!" He whispered, pacing back and forth across the narrow room like a caged animal.

"Well, do it anyway!" Lassiter growled. "I can't hear anything with you clomping all over the place!"

"What do you want?" Clark muttered. "I didn't get my pill…Shawn got it."

"For God's sake," Lassiter rolled his eyes, turning to the doctor. "Give the kid a damn pill before I shoot him!"

"No." Clark shook his head firmly. "I want to be awake. I didn't help David, and I'm not going to miss helping Shawn, too."

"You can't--" Lassiter started to say, but Juliet raised her hand urgently.

"Shh!" She hissed. "Did you hear that?"

For a tense moment, no one breathed.

There was definitely a sound in the hallway…feet slowly walking…

Lassiter nodded slowly, pulling out his gun.

"You ready, O'Hara?"

Juliet nodded, also already armed.

They quietly opened the door and looked out into the hallway. Clark was right behind them. Lassiter turned around and glared at him.

"You stay here." He whispered.

Clark started to protest, but Juliet stepped in.

"If you want to help Shawn, stay here." She told him, gently pushing him back inside. "We'll be back in a minute."

Clark sighed, but reluctantly obeyed the order.

Lassiter and Juliet disappeared down the hallway, creeping stealthily, their guns ready.

Clark sat on the bed, nervously fidgeting with the sheets as he strained to here what was happening down the hall. Dr. Hellerman was still sitting at his small desk, watching every move Clark made.

"Do you want something to help you sleep?" He asked quietly.

Clark shook his head fervently.

"No."

"Okay.  
"I just can't sit still….Shawn's in trouble."

"That's the police's job, Clark. Not yours."

"But--"

"Clark." Dr. Hellerman spoke firmly. "You can't do anything to help. Just stay here."

Clark opened his mouth to protest, but at that moment there was shout from down the hall.

"Freeze!"

The shout was immediately followed by the sound of running feet coming up the hallway.

Clark was out of the bed and at his door in an instant, before Dr. Hellerman could do anything to stop him. As he threw the door open, he saw Lou running past. Lassiter and Juliet were following, but they were still at the other end of the hall, too far away to catch him. Without thinking, Clark dove out of his door, tackling Lou around the ankles and bringing the man down.

Lassiter and Juliet arrived a moment later.

"Nice takedown." Juliet smiled at Clark, her cuffs already in her hands.

Clark slowly climbed back to his feet, beaming proudly.

"I told you you needed my help!"

Lassiter rolled his eyes at Dr. Hellerman.

"Can I tell him Dancini wasn't going anywhere?" He muttered. "It's a locked-down floor. There was no where for him to run to."

"No." Dr. Hellerman snapped sharply. "Don't tell him."

"Where's Shawn?" Clark asked, not hearing a word of their conversation. "Is he okay?"

"Yeah." Lassiter nodded, dragging Lou to his feet. "He's drugged up and knocked out pretty good…but he'll be fine."

"And I helped, right?" Clark asked eagerly. "I caught the bad guy, right?"

Lassiter glanced over at Dr. Hellerman, who shot him a warning look.

"Yeah." Lassiter grunted. "You caught the bad guy."


	15. Chapter 15

"I still don't know what I'm doing here." Henry grumbled, irritably crossing his arms across his chest. "You said you were going to release him."

"I am." Dr. Hellerman assured the ticked-off ex-cop. "But I can't just release a patient, even one who was in here undercover, without first being able to say that their therapy is progressing adequately."

"He doesn't need therapy!" Henry snapped, glaring at the doctor. "And if he did, he sure as hell wouldn't get it from a doctor who let him pull a dumb-ass stunt like letting a mob hitman try to kill him! What the _hell_ were you thinking?"

"It wasn't his idea, Dad." Shawn rolled his eyes from his own chair. "It was _my_ idea. It was _my_ dumb-ass stunt. Dr. Hellerman was just being supportive…you should try it sometime."

"Is _that_ your big complaint, Kid?" Henry snorted, turning his glare onto his son now. "That I never supported you trying to get yourself killed? Is _that_ what makes me a lousy father?"

"Who the hell said you're a lousy father?" Shawn shot back. "I'm just saying you should try supporting my ideas once in a while! But you never do! It's always your way or the highway. I have ideas, too, Dad! And they're just as good as yours!"

"Okay…" Dr. Hellerman spoke up. "This is good."

Shawn and Henry both glared at him.

"It is." He laughed, taking in their skeptical expressions. "You're talking. Talking is good."

"We're not talking." Henry informed him. "We're fighting."

"But you're not fighting about the bike this time." Dr. Hellerman pointed out. "You're fighting about actual issues. That's a step in the right direction."

Whether intentionally or not, that was the absolute perfect thing to say to ensure both father and son clamped their mouths shut and crossed their arms stubbornly, refusing to say another word.

After a minute of stony silence, Dr. Hellerman cleared his throat.

"Let's talk about the divorce." He suggested cautiously.

Henry stiffened.

"Is that my damn fault, too, Kid?" He growled under his breath.

"I never said it was your fault." Shawn returned bitterly.

"Divorces are painful for everyone." Dr. Hellerman offered. "But they're not always someone's fault. Sometimes, they just happen."

"Sometimes, people just decide to leave." Henry snapped, watching Shawn out of the corner of his eye.

Shawn flinched, his fingers digging into the soft fabric of the chair.

"I didn't want to leave." He said quietly.

Both Dr. Hellerman and Henry turned to him.

"What?" Henry asked.

Shawn blinked slowly.

"I mean…I did want to leave. I _had_ to leave. Just like Mom. My whole life, everyone told me I was just like Mom…and I am, Dad. That's why I left. I had to. I couldn't stick around Santa Barbara forever, not see the world…not be me. But that doesn't mean I _wanted_ to be like Mom. That doesn't mean I wanted to leave, to desert my family and friends. To not give a damn who the hell I hurt..."

At first, Henry didn't know what to say.

"Then what the hell _did_ you want, Shawn?"

Shawn shrugged.

"I wanted to stick around. Like you. I wanted to be like you…but I'm not. I'm not you. I can't be you…so I just stopped trying."

Henry looked down at his shoes, refusing to meet his son's eyes.

Shawn cleared his throat, looking for some way to change the subject.

"You were lying about the whole acting thing, right?" He asked finally.

Henry glanced back up.

"What?"

"You never actually did any acting…right? I mean, not in public?  
Henry grinned and arched a single eye-brow.

"You didn't get everything from your mom, Kid."

* * *

"You're leaving, huh?" Clark asked quietly, watching from the doorway of Shawn's room as Shawn threw his few changes of clothes into a bag.

"Yeah…" Shawn admitted, turning around so he was facing Clark.

"Oh."

"I caught the people who killed David. My job's done."

"What are they going to do to Nurse Sue?" Clark asked, coming in and perching on the edge of the bed.

"She'll plead out. The DA wants her to testify against Lou, so they'll cut her a good deal. She didn't want to do it, you know. She didn't have a choice."

"I know."

"It wasn't your fault, Clark."

"I know." Clark nodded, not sounding completely convinced himself. "But I still wish I could have done something."

"You did." Shawn told him. "You caught the bad guys."

"Yeah…" Clark smiled. "I did, didn't I?"

Shawn laughed as he dumped his last remaining shirt into the bag.

"You were never really one of us crazies, were you?" Clark asked quietly.

"Hey…" Shawn grinned. "Remember? We all go a little crazy sometimes."

"I still think that's from _Psycho…_"

"Dude." Shawn snorted. "I totally made it up all by myself, okay?"

Clark grinned and nodded in agreement.

"Okay."

Shawn zipped up his bag and walked to the door. He paused just before exiting.

"I didn't lie about my dad." He said, not turning around.  
"What?"

"He really did arrest me."

"Oh."

Shawn smiled palely to himself, finally turning his head so he was looking in Clark's eyes.

"But I think I'm over it now."


End file.
